PHOTOGRAPHS & MEMORIES
by Digitalwave
Summary: Not every scar is visible. Dean learned that the hard way, many years ago.


Notes: Spoilers up through all aired episodes. This was derived from a story prompt over on lj: Post-Hell: Sam & Dean, scars.  
Disclaimer: The characters in this story remain the property of Eric Kripke, Robert Singer and related production companies. None of the pretties belong to me, I'm only borrowing them.

**PHOTOGRAPHS & MEMORIES  
**

Sam sat quietly on the floor of the sun room, fixated on the project he worked on. A tiny frown marred his face, lower lip bitten in concentration as his long fingers gently smoothed out each new photo he placed.

Dean watched from the doorway to the room, standing silent guard over his brother. He smiled as Sam brushed his hair back out of his eyes for the umpteenth time. Damn kid's hair grew like weeds; it already needed to be whacked off again.

Dean stiffened at the slight noise of a footfall behind him. Turning he put a finger to his lips, motioning for them to step out into the hall.

"Hey, Doc, what's up? Got the latest scans back on Sammy already?" Dean ran nervous fingers through his hair, unconsciously straightening to his full height as he turned to face Doctor Johnston.

Smiling sadly she nodded, gesturing to the sheaf of printouts held tightly in her hand. "Yes, Dean, I knew you'd want to see them as soon as they came back." Moving over to a table and chairs set in a nearby alcove she spread them out, pointing her pen at the topmost picture.

"Dean, look here, do you see those dark splotches on his brain scan?"

Cold settled into Dean's bones, threatening to take his breath as he followed the sweep of her hand over the paper. "Yeah, Doc, I do. Whatta' they mean?"

"They're scar tissue, Dean, little fissures, bruises, evidence of past bleeds. Individually they'd be reabsorbed; the damage would heal over time. Cumulatively, like Sam's injuries are, we're not sure." She glanced up from the readouts, eyes searching his. "You say he used to play Extreme Sports?"

Dean looked back through the glass doors, watched Sam still sprawled out on the floor. "Yeah, he played hockey, did rock climbing, took some pretty nasty falls."

He watched the doctor nod, saw her accept the lies once again as she smiled back at Dean. "All I can tell you is, give him time. See how far he can come with therapy and more of a chance to heal. I wish I could give you assurances that he'll come back to you at a hundred percent but, I can't." Gathering the reports back into their folder, she stood up.

Dean put out his hand, hoped she would ignore how badly it shook as she clasped it. "Thanks, doc, for everything."

He watched as she walked away then turned, opening the door to the sunroom where Sam waited for him so patiently. Walking over he knelt down, hand light on Sam's shoulder.

Sam looked up, face transformed with a bright smile. "Dean, hi!"

Dean smiled back, heart lighter just to see the pure joy on Sam's face. "Hey, buddy. Whatcha' doing?"

"I made a present for you, Dean. Look, see? Nurse said it should 'bout my home. See?" Smiling he pushed the collage of pictures he'd worked so diligently on toward Dean.

Tears pricked at Dean's eyes, making them burn, as he saw what Sam had done. Pictures of sleek, black cars filled the page, interspersed with the few, sad images that remained from their childhood. There were also photos that had been taken since they'd been here at the rehab facility. Thankfully those all showed them laughing or with silly grins on their faces for the camera.

Wordlessly he traced over the images, all placed with care on the cardboard backing. "Sammy, this is beautiful, buddy, I love it."

Sam looked up at Dean, concern dimming the joy on his face. "Dean? Are you crying? I… I didn't mean to make you sad…"

Clearing his suddenly clogged throat Dean carefully shoulder-bumped Sam.

"No, you dofus, these are good tears. Doesn't always mean you're sad if you're crying, squirt." Dean leaned over ruffling Sam's hair.

"Deaaaan!"

"Hey, Sammy, you ready to blow this popsicle stand? Ready to go home?"

Sam gathered up his present, carefully holding it as he and Dean put away the supplies he'd used to make it. "To the Impala?"

Dean flinched slightly, shaking his head. "No kiddo, not quite yet. We've still gotta put in some more therapy time at the hospital before you're done. You just don't have to sleep here any more. Besides, you don't wanna leave any of your new friends yet, do you?"

Sam tipped his head forward, looking thoughtful. "No, Dean, guess not. So, then, where we going?"

"Bobby and me found us a place. It's real close here to the hospital. Plus, I got that job with Bobby's friend at the garage. I told you about it, remember?"

"Yeah…" Sam looked down; tracing his fingers over the pictures he'd placed. "So, we can't hit the road yet, huh?"

Dean gripped Sam's shoulder, squeezed it gently. "Not yet, buddy, but soon. I promise."

Sam looked up at Dean with so much trust and love in his face that it hurt like a bitch but Dean somehow held on to his smile.

"Okay."

"Cool. Now, get your butt in gear, I've gotta go talk to the docs to get your walking papers and you've got to get all that crap in your room packed up. Ready?" Dean stood up at Sam's nod. Reaching down he placed his hand on Sam's elbow to help steady him as he followed Dean up from the floor.

Air puffed out of his lungs as he was suddenly hugged within an inch of his life by his very own Gigantor. "I'm glad we're going home, Dean."

"Me too, kiddo, me too." Turning his head he saw Kathy, Sam's nursing attendant, as she stood watching them from the doorway, hastily wiping her eyes. "Hey, Kathy."

"Hi, Dean." She gave them both a somewhat watery smile.

Carefully disentangling himself from his grinning baby brother, he got another huff of laughter from Sam as he again ruffled his hair. "Now, you scoot with Kathy and I'll go do my thing with the lovely Nurse Pam. See you back in your room in just a few minutes, okay?"

"Okay!" Sam turned toward Kathy as he excitedly showed her his gift for Dean as she helped him back to his room. Dean watched, comforted, as she automatically adjusted her stride to match the hesitant shuffle step caused by Sam's weak right leg.

Once they were out of sight Dean dropped down into the nearest chair, his trembling legs no longer willing to support him. He covered his face with his hands, fighting to get back his game face before he saw Sam again.

He wished sometimes that Lillith wasn't dead just so he could have the pleasure of killing that Queen Bitch all over again. Sam didn't deserve the cost he'd paid to win back Dean's freedom. Hell, he was still paying it, every single day. Sometimes the worst scars were the ones you couldn't see.

Bobby told him all the time that it was worth it, that Dean was worth it. That, between the three of them they'd saved the whole damned world.

He hoped so, prayed so. Things like today, Sam's sweet gift, that amazing hug, helped him keep on breathing, kept him going when nothing else could.

Dean stood up, squaring his shoulders. This was just another fight they had to win. One of these days they'd do it, they'd hit the road again in his girl. Like Sammy'd say, he just had to have faith.

Dean could handle that. All it really took was seeing Sam's goofy grin. Or just one look into his brother's gentle eyes. Because, even if he still had trouble trusting in the Big Guy, Sam didn't. His baby brother, supposed head of Satan's armies, still believed. Hell, he had buckets of the stuff to spare.

fin


End file.
